THE LATEST FROM THE READING FESTIVAL:
Oh dear. Yeah, I mean I know that it’s excusable and everything, but still …
I’m writing this on borrowed internet access – borrowed from somewhere across the road I think – while we get sorted out with an ISP for our new home. The problem with wireless broadband is that you just don’t know where it’s coming from. I would pop next-door/down the stairs/across the road to ask permission, but as there are about 250 dwellings just on my short little street (I love Scottish tenaments!), I shan’t.
Instead, I’ll sit here feeling a tiny bit guilty, until we have our own open access wi-fi that we can share with The Whole World!
I arrived in Edinburgh on Wednesday (although I prefer to say ‘moved’ – it sounds more permanent), and considering it’s a whole new city and country and everything, life has felt rather perculiarly normal for me here, despite a lot of job-searching and house-hunting.
But what has popped back into contention (for the label of ‘normality’) is the discussion of, and possible movement towards, Community Living. I am presently staying with a girl called Clare (and her parents), and, along with vitually everyone else on the planet, she’s been chewing over how to live in community and express that Something that doesn’t exist otherwise. She & me (plus one more) may shortly be having a go at it together – taking a flat together and ‘getting all intentional’.
Oh gosh, I hope so. It’s provoked a whole lot of chatting, and much re-reading of Rivendell/Lothlorien descriptions. I wont go on, but this is the idea:
That house was, as Bilbo had long ago reported, "a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep or storytelling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all". Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness.
If you’ve ever wanted to hear someone talk about important, significant, serious issues with grace, wit and a very good video (and hence, are missing Prime Minister’s Question Time), please make yourself aware of Post 9-11 Blues by Riz MC. Hopefully it might make you a bit uncomfortable as you smile and sing along 🙂
‘I intend to live for ever, or die trying.’ [Groucho Marx]
A couple of weeks ago, I went into the Apple store on Regents Street. I felt like a lamb amongst brightly-coloured geeky evangelistic wolves. It was hard, but I tried not to make eye contact with any of the assistants (who are clearly LIVING THE DREAM – can you imagine anything greater for a Mac-geek than being able to proselytise and be paid for it?!!), and ploughed on.
And then I bought something – oh GOSH!! It’s one thing breaking into the Death Star, but to start giving money to the Sith was really quite far out …
I’m joking of course. Maybe.
My laptop is not a Mac, but of course I’m not allowed to be proud of that, cos you can’t. It’s like going abroad and telling people how glad you are to be English, and white, and middle-class; it’s not that you CAN’T, more that the world is just not like that. I have nothing against Macs themselves (although the ones in our department at uni were crap), and neither have I any particular axe to grind against the Mac-people themselves (I’m sure that their mothers think they are great).
What annoys me is the sense of superiority that oozes from the pores of a Mac-user, and especially the bile and vitriol which so unnecessarily seem to accompany it. There is a sense of ‘we have found the Messiah!’ that makes us poor outsiders feel small and unvalued. We are people too! If you really wish to see souls saved from Windows purgatory, I’m sure there are much better ways of preaching the Gospel than purely bashing the opposition. Or is diversity of preference really that threatening?
Anyway, so I emerged from my short dalliance with the dark side, dancing with the angel of light; I gave the very pleasant 13" sleeve to my sister, and went back to tapping away at my little black Dell.